


Comfort At The Bottom Of A Puddle

by sunaddicted



Series: Tumblr Prompts 2020 [7]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: A Regular Day In Gotham, Bad Weather, Character Study, Future Fic, M/M, Rain, Slice of Life, Tired Jim Gordon, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27506737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: Jim blinked down at the mug that was suddenly put in front of him, trying not to laugh at the coaster that had been deftly slid beneath it - so, Oswald didn't care about the upholstery getting ruined by Gotham's filthy rain but apparently he drew the line at ring-stains on his tabletops.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Jim Gordon
Series: Tumblr Prompts 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654798
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	Comfort At The Bottom Of A Puddle

**Author's Note:**

> 24\. Puddles - for dashokeypokey on tumblr ♡

_ Comfort At The Bottom Of A Puddle _

It had been raining for weeks and Jim was done with the weather; yes, he was sort of used to it, he was pretty sure that, statistically, Gotham was one of the rainiest cities in the US but the last weeks had been different: the rain hadn't let up even for a moment - or, if it had, it had been during the few hours of sleep that Jim had been able to snatch here and there, his insomnia made only worse by the irritation that pervaded him because of the weather - and the sky had been one solid and dark shade of grey for days, the kind that seemed to prelude to the end of the world.

At that point, Jim would have welcomed it too.

He didn't think it was dramatic either: he couldn't remember the last time heh hadn't gone back home as sodden as a dishrag; every ache hiding in the old cracks of his bones had flourished thanks to the relentless humidity, only making him wearier by the day; all of his umbrellas had broken because of course Gotham had to be windy bitch too and Jim had given up on them, swapping his nice and streamlined coat for one with a hood he could tug up while he looked down at the nth dead body they hadn't found fast enough, any and all proof slouched away by the incessant rain.

Jim let out a noise that was a crossbreed between tiredness and disgust as he brushed his hand against the doorhandle to close the car door and felt cold water against his fingers.

He decided to kick it closed instead, forcing himself to ignore the disgusting slimy print he left on the chassis - hopefully, the rain would do him at least  _ one _ favour wash it away before it started to get on Jim's nerves.

Or maybe not.

Jim jumped a little as some bastard sped up close enough to the curb to flood the pavement with the water that had been stagnating on the streets, showering him from head to toe - startling him enough that he let the car keys fall into the puddle at his feet to boot. 

Hadn't he been as exhausted as he was, Jim would have started screaming his rage at the leaden sky; Jim just sighed instead, looking down at the puddle with resignation, lips pursed as he tried to persuade his fingers to unclench from the cuffs to dive into the muddy and cold water.

Would it be that bad if he left them there?

He really didn't want to get his fingers wet and he was sure he could easily break into his own shitty car with the aid of his credit card, so that he could hotwire it.

He even had the spare set at home - probably - so that it didn't even have to be a permanent arrangement.

As absorbed as he was in his plan, it took Jim a few seconds more than he would have liked to notice that the rain had seemingly stopped falling on his head; Jim looked up, squinting confusedly at the black canvas stretched above him and then he moved his gaze downwards, at his side "Oswald"

"Hello, Jim" Oswald reached beneath the gloved hand that was holding up the umbrella over them both "Be a dear Nicholas and retrieve the Commissioner's keys while i escort him inside" he shot an inquiring glance towards the other man, slightly taller than him but not to the point that it made it uncomfortable for him to be holding the umbrella above their heads "You were coming to the Lounge anyway, weren't you?"

He nodded - there was no point in denying it: Jim didn't exactly have any personal business to look after in the Diamond district; he frequented its paved streets only if a body cropped up or if he needed to sell another piece of his soul to Oswlad in exchange for any information the other man could give him.

So, he followed the Penguin into his half-deserted lair - it would be hours still before the Lounge came to life, bursting with far too rich patrons who didn't seem to care about spending a small fortune on ridiculously overpriced drinks.

"Sit"

If Oswald didn't care about his expensive-looking upholstery getting wet, why should he? Jim shrugged out of his coat with relief and hanged it up on the back of a chair before huddling in the corner of a booth Oswald had pointed at, cramped muscles slowly relaxing because of the warmth inside the club - not for the first time, Jim was happy that the place didn't look much like its name suggested.

For the better part of the year, at least.

Hopefully, before the first of December rolled around and Oswald decided to once again turn the Iceberg Lounge into a winter wonderland for Christmas time, the rain would stop being so fucking annoying: he didn't really relish in the thought of walking into a miniature North Pole while he was soaked to the bone.

"Your keys, sir"

"Uh, thanks" Jim wracked his brain in search of Oswlad's new umbrella boy's name - he  _ knew _ it - but he came up empty and, flustered, he pushed a damp and crumpled five dollar bill in the kid's hands; he didn't know how much exactly the mobster paid him but extra cash was always nice, right?

Right.

Jesus, he really was running on fumes.

"I know you're here for business, old friend, but you can drink this first"

Jim blinked down at the mug that was suddenly put in front of him, trying not to laugh at the coaster that had been deftly slid beneath it - so, Oswald didn't care about the upholstery getting ruined by Gotham's filthy rain but apparently he drew the line at ring-stains on his tabletops.

Maybe the fact that he found it so funny was a sign of how close he was to losing it.

"There is alcohol in this"

Oswald rolled his eyes as he made himself comfortable beside the other man "It will warm you up"

"That's a misconception"

"Well, the tea definitely will - the alcohol will make you look a little more alive, how about that?"

Jim probably should have been offended by the implication that he looked very much dead on his feet but he knew it was true and he didn't have the energies to be pissed about such a small thing, anyway. Jim took a sip of the tea, trying and failing to hide the shudder that shook his body at the heat of it pooling at the bottom of his stomach, and rolled the mouthful on his tongue; beneath the hearty bitterness of a strongly brewed English Breakfast, the scotch that Oswald had poured in tasted far too nice to have been used to doctor a mug of tea.

He wasn't complaining, though: if Oswald wanted to metaphorically pour the good stuff down the drain - especially when Jim was on the receiving end of it - who was he to make a fuss about it?

Jim took another sip and the warmth - of the tea, of the room, of Oswald's body pressed against his - melted away the stress that had been steadily gathering in the valley between his shoulderblades and up the column of his neck.

Oddly at peace, despite the company he was in.

Despite the way the personification of a good portion of the mistakes he had done reached out to gently pry the mug from his hands as his eyes slowly lowered - as Jim fell asleep in the middle of the Iceberg Lounge.


End file.
